October 01, 2013

october: that certain slant of light

I know that it was winter afternoons, not autumn, that Emily Dickinson had in mind when she wrote with such heaviness and beauty of slants of light, but that poem always springs to mind on October afternoons.

Recently, I was looking back through pictures of when the girls were babies and toddlers, and I realized that almost all of my favorite pictures capturing our family life were taken in October. Perhaps there is some logical explanation, some precise reason pinpointed by meteorology or astrophysics nailing down why the light is so perfect on our curve of the globe this time of year.

I don't know.

What I do know is that it's a shame to let it go to waste. I'm going to try to pick up the big camera more this month and see what I can snap.

Like babies on a blanket in the front yard and a big sister being ornery.

Like how two big sisters just aren't enough so the neighbor girls gather around, too,

and offer toys to one while the other looks on with something like baby skepticism

... until it's his turn, too.

Oh, that JK.

Oh, that Mack Man.

Oh, the afternoon sunning illuminating how they are practically big kids now.

These certain slants of light, creamy and bright and slipping away all too quickly.

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october: that certain slant of light

I know that it was winter afternoons, not autumn, that Emily Dickinson had in mind when she wrote with such heaviness and beauty of slants of light, but that poem always springs to mind on October afternoons.

Recently, I was looking back through pictures of when the girls were babies and toddlers, and I realized that almost all of my favorite pictures capturing our family life were taken in October. Perhaps there is some logical explanation, some precise reason pinpointed by meteorology or astrophysics nailing down why the light is so perfect on our curve of the globe this time of year.

I don't know.

What I do know is that it's a shame to let it go to waste. I'm going to try to pick up the big camera more this month and see what I can snap.

Like babies on a blanket in the front yard and a big sister being ornery.

Like how two big sisters just aren't enough so the neighbor girls gather around, too,

and offer toys to one while the other looks on with something like baby skepticism

... until it's his turn, too.

Oh, that JK.

Oh, that Mack Man.

Oh, the afternoon sunning illuminating how they are practically big kids now.

These certain slants of light, creamy and bright and slipping away all too quickly.